The Hunter and the Consulting Detective
by iffiness
Summary: Crossover: SPN/Sherlock! Winchesters mentioned, not active characters yet. OC Hunter. My name's Brynne Colt. I was hunting a couple of vamps, and when I got close to them they hopped the freakin' country and started over again in London. Of course, bodies drained of blood attracted Sherlock Holmes... but there's no way I'm letting him go after vamps. He's not a hunter.
1. Chapter 1

_Trying out a new story! Crossover between SPN and Sherlock. Lemme know what you think please! :D_

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The great and famous Sherlock Holmes. He just had to be working my case, didn't he? Of course, it would figure that a case where several women of the same size and hair color, drained of all the blood in their bodies, would attract such a madman. Still, it had to be my case. I hadn't been in England very long, and London much shorter, but it was where my chase led me and so I followed. The vamps I had been after for a couple of months had been pretty ingenious when they decided to hop frickin' countries, but it wasn't good enough to keep me off their trail. Now that I knew they were out there, hunting innocent girls, there was no way I'd back down from finding them and putting them down.

But Sherlock was going to be an issue. He's too smart for his own damn good. I have a feeling he isn't gonna back down from this case very easily… and that I would have to tread very lightly when I assert that the "FBI" has been following a string of murders like this from the states to here. I've never been detained by authorities on this side of the ocean, and I have a feeling it'll be a little more difficult to get away from them in London.

So, tugging at the stupidly tight charcoal colored suit pants I was wearing, with a matching blazer and underneath a tame blue camisole (and reasonable boots, heels are ridiculous), I made my way over to the yellow crime tape. Beyond it was the dark alley in which the most recent murders had taken place. Two young girls, brunette and petite (like myself, which is why I'm hoping that eventually it'll make me a target for the vamps), lay dead in the far corner by a dumpster, some policemen and one Sherlock Holmes hovering around them. It couldn't be much harder to dupe these cops than it is to dupe them in the States, so I marched to a younger looking black woman who seemed to be standing guard at the tape and flashed my badge at her.

"Special Agent Demaris," I barked at her sharply, narrowing my green eyes at her in the same authoritative manner I used on the cops in the States. "FBI. We've been following a string of cases like what you've had going on in the States. I'm here to see if it could be the same perp."

The woman seemed suspicious as she eyed my badge and then me, but ultimately she tugged the tape up and let me pass under it. "Sergeant Sally Donovan, Scotland Yard. I'll take you over to the Detective Inspector," she motioned for me to follow her to the crime scene, which I did obligingly. Before we got too close she turned back to me, keeping her voice low. "Sherlock is here, so be warned. He's a right arse."

I raised an eyebrow at her in response, choosing not to say anything to that. I had heard enough about Sherlock from some local hunters to know that I needed to play it safe, but her warning was kind.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Donovan spoke up to get his attention, motioning to where I stood behind her. "FBI's here."

The Detective Inspector looked pretty startled when he gave me a once-over, apparently not anticipating some overseas operatives to show up on this case. I took my badge back out and flashed it at him, pocketing it as soon as he got a decent look at it. I knew Sherlock had to be watching us interact somehow… it was just his M.O..

"Detective Inspector, I'm Special Agent Demaris," I introduced myself cordially, holding a hand out to shake his as he extended it. "Sorry to intrude without a proper warning, but I've only just got here and heard there had been another attack. I've been following cases like the ones you've got popping up here in the States. I'm here to find out if it's the same perp, because we've gone cold Stateside."

"Right, of course," he shook his head, his salt-n-pepper hair flopping around as he did. "Well, feel free to have a look around. Never let it be said we don't help out our brothers across the pond."

I smiled coyly at him, winking as I moved forward and tugged some latex gloves out of my pocket to put on. "Never," I repeated him, winking at him as I pulled the gloves on. "So what do we have?"

I expected Lestrade to answer my question, but instead my entire sight was suddenly filled with none other than Sherlock Holmes as he towered over my 5'5" frame and glowered down at me. "Well, Special Agent Demaris," he practically spat out as he narrowed his gray-blue eyes down at me. "Why don't you start by telling us what the crime scenes looked like that were under your jurisdiction."

I took a step back from him and returned his cold glare, frowning at him. He really was an ass. "Usually two vics, female, brunette, petite. Blood drained from them with just a couple of pretty small wounds in the necks, wrists, or thighs. No other observable cause of death, even with an autopsy. Now, may I please have a look at the bodies?"

Sherlock said nothing in response but did move out of my way, which I took to be a good sign. Maybe I had passed his stupid little test. I hadn't lied, after all. He seemed to not trust that I was actually an FBI agent, but if he wanted he could call my good friend Bobby Singer for confirmation. Of course… he wouldn't know it was just an old redneck in South Dakota. He'd think it was some head honcho in an FBI HQ.

I crouched in between the bodies, maneuvering around a little so that the gun in the back of my pants wasn't quite pressing into my buttbone so hard, and got to work. It was relatively easy to find out if they were vamp kills, and they were. It was unmistakable that they were the same vamps I were following, too. They always left a creepy little lovebite or something on the inside of the vic's lips. It was their calling card or something, I dunno. It was just weird. But apparently Mr. Holmes hadn't found that, because as soon as I opened one of the mouths he was down beside of me and pushing my hand out of the way so he could grab the lip and look at it. I rolled my eyes at his antics, standing up and removing my gloves with a pop and throwing them down next to his shoe.

"Yeah, same mark," I turned to the Detective Inspector, expecting him to ask me what all I knew about the perps, but was instead met with a flabbergasted face and beside of him Sergeant Donovan was holding back a grin. "I'm sorry, what? Is there something on my face?"

Donovan was the first to speak up, shaking her head in amusement. "You found something the freak missed. Never seen him look so flustered before."

"I…" a light smile graced my painted red lips as I glanced back at Sherlock, who was studiously ignoring us to try and figure out why there was a bite on the lip. From the outside, seeing such a tall, pale, and honestly hunk of a guy who was known to be an ass and extremely intelligent beside of a short, tanned and freckled, average looking chick who was unknown to the people here must've made it a fun scene to see when the chick outwitted the dude. Our hair color was pretty similar, but that's as far as similarities went. So… I may have laughed a little. Not too loudly, but also not quietly. "Yeah. I get how that's funny. Anyway, here's my number," I fished out one of my fake cards with my FBI credentials, my number, and my "superviser" Bobby's number on it. "Call me if you get another like this. I'll be hanging around town for a few days."

We exchanged farewells and I moved on, hoping that they wouldn't actually call me and expect me to show up. I just needed to get in that one crime scene with the bodies to find out of it was the same couple of vamps I had been tracking. Now that I knew there was no way I intended to go back around those cops. Or Sherlock, for that matter. One way or the other I'd be found out. So after popping back into the cab I had left waiting for me around the corner and asking for the cheapest motel in town to stay at I started to get down to business. It was time for the hunt to start. London was a hotspot for night activity; a perfect hunting ground for vamps… and for a hunter.

And I'm a damned good hunter.


	2. Chapter 2

Being in a completely different country for a hunt was a pretty damned big inconvenience. I have maybe an eighth of the arsenal I'm used to having. Usually I have my entire trunk... right now I have not even an entire backpack. A couple of silver knives, a machete, and a gun with normal bullets. Hopefully I won't run into anything other than the vamps, because I'm sorely underdressed for any other occasion. I could probably get some holy water somewhere around town, but until I needed it it would just be a hassle to do. Besides, demonic possession in London hadn't been mentioned in years.

At least now I don't have to deal with the local cops or Sherlock Holmes anymore. For now all I had to do was take a much needed nap in the motel and after that get ready to prowl through the bars in the vicinity of where those two new vics were found. So that was exactly what I did. After my nap and quick shower I dressed up in an outfit I had bought that more closely resembled what the vamps were apparently attracted to; it was a relatively simple ensemble, a mid-thigh length black skirt, white sequined camisole, and my own addition of a semi-baggy black leather jacket over top of it. The jacket was necessary for me to hide a sheathed machete on my side, and unfortunately the outfit called for me to wear hellishly high heeled, uncomfortable, ungodly, stupid pointy shoes.

But hey, after tying my hair up in a bun and painting my eyes black and my lips pink I was ready to go and looking pretty damn fine. I had my gun in the olive green hobo bag hanging around my shoulder, machete in place, and the will to see this case finished tonight. I left the motel room, shoving a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door as I went, and got a cab to the street I had been to earlier. The police tape was still up at that alley and a couple of cold looking cops were standing around it, growing damp in the light mist that had started to fall, and I almost felt bad for them… except they were stupid. If they would just acknowledge the things that go bump in the night people like me would have it a whole lot easier going around and ganking monsters and they wouldn't be stuck out there.

So after a quick question to the cabbie, posing as a stupid American who hadn't bothered researching the area (because honestly I hadn't and felt dumb for it), I found out that there were only a couple of "pubs" in the area. The language barrier here was pretty apparent, because it took several tries of me asking for a bar for him to understand what I meant, but I got to where I wanted to be in the end. After paying the (honestly ridiculous, but I suppose since I'm a tourist it makes sense) cab fare, I made my way into the first bar. It was a pretty dingy little hole in the wall, and it smelled nothing like a bar back in the States. At least back home you could tell a place was a bar by the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap booze, with a little bit of old vomit mixed in.

I chose a seat off to myself and sat my phone down in front of me so I could pretend to be checking the time every so often. If the vamp thought I was alone, stood up on a date, he'd probably be more likely to approach. In the meantime, who's to say I couldn't have a drink? So I ordered myself a whiskey and coke, which apparently, according to the bartender, wasn't what he expected an alone American girl to order. But it was just what I was in the mood for. Beer is good, I'll drink it, but I wanted something to take the chill off from the steadily decreasing temperature outside.

What I wasn't expecting was for the barstool beside of me to become suddenly occupied, so abruptly that I almost thought it was just some drunk trying to make a move on me… until I locked eyes with the stormy blue, calculative eyes of one Sherlock Holmes. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, and lost, my frustration growing towards him. Could he not leave well enough alone?

"Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure to see you again," I bit out, smiling grudgingly at him as I sat my drink back down. There was this odd feeling growing in me that was screaming 'he isn't here for a drink', and it was really triggering my fight or flight. He was going to ruin anything I had going on here tonight anyway, and I definitely didn't want to get arrested because Sherlock Holmes figured me out.

"Agent Demaris," he replied in an almost equal tone, his eyes taking in everything they could as they stared at me. "Or should I say Miss Brynne Colt?"  
I groaned at that, rubbing my forehead in exasperation. Of course he already had done his research. What a fucking mistake this was. "What did it for you?" I found myself asking instead of trying to run. I was conflicted. There was little doubt in my mind that the vamp was somewhere in this pub with us, but if Sherlock had me made and knew my name he would also know that I'm a wanted fugitive in the states…

He was smirking at this point, a miniscule upturn of his lips giving away the smugness he felt. "Your DNA and fingerprints were sufficient enough Thank you for offering them to me so willingly."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at my own stupidity. Of course. Of course it would be the freaking gloves I threw at him that gave it away. In the states no one would've batted an eye and ran tests on the freaking gloves.

"You have quite an interesting rap sheet," Sherlock continued, waving off the bartender when he approached to see if he wanted a drink. "Credit card fraud, impersonating a federal officer, breaking and entering, and my personal favorite, grave desecration, to name a few."

"Yes, well, we all have our faults," I dismissed quickly, catching sight of something across the room that was suddenly much more interesting and relevant to me than my current conversation with Sherlock. He could arrest me if he wanted, but not until I got what I was here for. And it looked like that was about to happen. A tall, dark and broody man had been eyeballing us as we spoke for several minutes now… "Sherlock, I am very sorry about this, but I'm going to stop these murders and this is currently my best option." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he tensed, apparently expecting me to attack him or something, but was instead thrown off balance as I stood up quickly out of my chair and threw the remnants of my drink on him. "You disgusting ass!" I yelled at him, clutching my bag to my hip as I took a step away from him. "I told you twice already! I'm not interested!" And that did it. The room's attention turned to us, apparently expecting to see a fight of some sort, and the man I had seen brooding across the room was very quickly at my side.

"Leave the lady alone, asshole," the suspected vampire glared at Sherlock, placing a protective hand on my shoulder and pulling me towards him. He had an American accent. That almost sealed the deal.

Sherlock's eyes locked with mine for a second, apparently torn on whether or not he move to apprehend me or possibly close a case on a serial killer. Ultimately he stood, moving across the room and into the shadows without another word.

"Thank you," I turned and offered my most genuine, innocent smile to the tall man that had come to my 'rescue'.

"Us Americans have to stick together, right?" He offered back, smiling charmingly at me. "I was just about to leave to find a different place to have a drink. You're welcome to come."

"I'd love to," I responded automatically, wrapping one of my arms around his when he offered. The vampire was very charming, it was no wonder all of his victims went with him. We exited the pub and walked a little ways down the block, chatting idly about things that neither of us meant. It didn't take long for him to do what I had been expecting, forcefully gripping my arm and leading me into a darkened alley. And that's where his friend was waiting. I wasn't expecting it to be a teenaged girl, but… well, they were both vamps and had a slew of kills on their heads.

"Sorry about this, sweetheart," the man told me sadistically, shoving me forward and in between the two of them. "But she's new, and boy is she hungry."

And that's when I realized I was sorely mistaken in that aspect. A newturn was bound to be even more feral and vicious, unused to the sensations of being a vampire. "That's quite alright," I responded to the man, turning to warily eye the girl. She had become my new number one threat. "I happen to have came prepared."

Before more banter could be exchanged the girl, impatient, charged. She landed a wild swing to my left cheek, causing me to stumble as I grasped for the blade of my machete. When it was unsheathed and held between us the girl paused, apparently debating on how much I could actually do with that blade… and then charged again, despite the man's cries for her to wait. There was the sickening sound of the sharp edge of the blade slicing into her neck, cutting through the bones of her neck, and shortly followed by the plop of her head as it rolled off, her body following shortly after. One down, one to…

As soon as my attention turned to the man I was met with the sudden realization that he had charged forwards when the girl had lunged at me last. The machete was knocked out of my hand along with my breath as he threw me against the brick wall to my back, holding me off the ground by my neck. I gripped blindly at his wrist, hoping to find a pressure point to force him to release me.

"That was my mate, you stupid hunter," the man snarled, his mouth opening as his teeth slid into place. "I am going to make you pay for that."

I grimaced, both for the fact that such a young girl had been turned to be this asshole's mate for life, and the fact that I was about to be bitten. He was much stronger than me. As his teeth grazed the flesh of my neck, above my jugular, causing small trickles of blood to appear in their wake, he was thrust off of me as another figure threw himself into him. I fell to the ground in an unceremonious bundle as I quickly looked up, not expecting Sherlock to be standing there.

But Sherlock wasn't looking at me. He was staring incredulously, frozen on the spot, as the vampire turned to him, his mouth opening and revealing all of his fangs as a feral growl erupted from his throat. And as much as I'd have liked to stay on the ground, catching my breath, it was apparent that Sherlock was still trying to process what he was seeing and wasn't going to move as the vamp charged at him.

"Move!" I shouted at Sherlock, lunging for my machete and rolling across the ground before thrusting myself back onto my feet and surging forward. Sherlock still hadn't moved, the vampire was still charging… and I was closing in behind him, swinging harshly and grimacing as the machete contacted the vampire's neck with the same sickening crunch as before and the blood gushed out.

As the vampire fell, finally dead, I met Sherlock's eyes again. He was slowly come back to his senses, and… covered in the vampire's blood. I offered a lopsided smile to him, panting heavily from the exertion of the fight as I wiped the machete off on the vamp's shirt and replaced it on my side. "That was a vampire," I offered him lamely, hoping it would make some sort of sense to him.

"Vampires are stories for children," Sherlock responded, his tone tight as he once again narrowed his eyes at me.

"Really, Sherlock? A guy as smart as you, I'd have figured the evidence of your own eyes would be enough." I huffed out an angry sigh, wincing as I rubbed my hand where the vampire had grazed my skin. That would need to be disinfected. And my cheek was probably bruising. And my back would probably bruise. But hey, at least I could go back home now. "Look, Sherlock Holmes, they're real. Pretty much everything you never thought was real is real. And I hunt them. The things that go bump in the night. That's my job: saving people and hunting things. So either you accept this and let me go so I can keep on doing it, or you call the police in now and arrest me." I was getting tired, the adrenaline from the fight wearing off and replacing with weariness with an overtone of grump.

Sherlock's eyes practically never left mine, still narrowed as he apparently tried to figure me out or something. Who knows how the mind of a sociopathic genius works. But he did finally speak up and surprise me. "My roommate is a doctor. He could clean that for you."

I was going to tell him there was no need, that I had taken care of worse wounds on my own before, but… when I locked eyes with him I realized what he was really saying. He wanted to believe me, but he had more questions to ask. And until then he wasn't letting me out of his sight. Which meant I had no choice but to go back to his place with him. "Right," I finally replied, sighing and shaking my head. "If I'm going to be trapped by you, could we at least stop and get my things before then?"

And apparently he found that to be a decent deal, because he turned and started walking out of the alley we were in, leaving me no choice but to awkwardly sprint to catch up to him in the heels I was stupid enough to wear.

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_Hey! I hope whoever reads this enjoys it. It doesn't seem to garner as much attention as my solely SPN story, but I enjoy writing this, so..._

_I hope I'm not too OoC with Sherlock. And I hope this all makes sense as to how he would react._

_Leave me a review, please! I like to know if I'm doing well. :) Lemme know if there's something I could improve._


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